


With Friends Like These

by fawatson



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Backstory about Aral Vorkosigan and Count Vorhalas' relationship.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	With Friends Like These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiegaladheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts).



The first time Lord Vorhalas met Aral Vorkosigan was when he got married. He ought to have met him years before; after all there was a strictly limited number of Counts, and Count’s heirs. They all went to the same schools and attended the same receptions. But the ten years between them had left them strangers. His younger brother Rulf was young Aral’s contemporary; those two had met at school, and then known one another in the Imperial Service Academy. Somehow, they had never met. But, of course, Count Vorkosigan was invited to the marriage of Count Vorhalas’ heir. The wedding had been deliberately scheduled in those few weeks after the senior class graduated from the academy and before they all dispersed to their first assignments, just so Rulf could stand as his Witness. The young Lord Vorkosigan accompanied his father, and dutifully made his bow to the new husband and wished the new bride felicitations, before he and Rulf found a quiet corner with other young scions of the Vor. The sober and sensible bridegroom was conscious of that slightly rowdier element of the reception, but he and his wife left soon after the formalities; their bridal retreat in the Vorhalas District was several hours from the capital, so they could not remain long. He heard later the younger men went off to try the delights of the caravanserai soon after he and his new wife left. Well, that too was traditional.

*****

It was only a few years later when he met the young man again. He had not missed him in the interim. Young Lord Aral had developed a somewhat…spotted…reputation. He had heard the sordid gossip about the boy’s wife, not to mention the rumours about his carousing with Ges Vorrutyer. As the father of two, with a third child on the way, the Vorhalas household was sober and respectable. His Natasha was too busy raising a family to attend the parties Galina Vorrutyer went to. They had, of course, gone to the girl’s funeral, and been rather shocked when young Lord Vorkosigan didn’t. Two years later, Dimitri Vorhalas lit the funeral pyre for his own father-the-Count, and his younger brother Rulf brought his brother officer Aral Vorkosigan to the ceremony. His face had lines Vorhalas did not remember. Well, it stood to reason, it had been several years since he last saw Count Vorkosigan’s heir. Dimitri could not help wondering, though, if it was only time that had etched those deep creases around Lord Vorkosigan’s mouth. 

*****

Sometimes – not often, only occasionally – Count Vorhalas envied Aral Vorkosigan. He was heir to a District yet still a serving officer, and not just here in the capital but operationally active on galactic missions. Occasionally he accompanied his father to Vorhartung Castle, when he was between assignments. Even more rarely he deputised for Count Vorkosigan at the Council of Counts. But the Count generally preferred to take part in debates himself and cast his own vote. He did see young Lord Vorkosigan sometimes in the room when he attended political soirees at Vorkosigan House. He and the Count did not see eye to eye about many things but, though he tended to side with the Progressives in many social programmes, Vorhalas was known to be independent, rather than firmly in the camp of any one party. There was a certain amount of…horse trading at Count Piotr’s parties. Sometimes he fancied Aral, no matter how dutifully he backed up his father, might not quite _agree_. This vote, for example: about the proposal to widen the admissions criteria for the Imperial Service Academy, and establish a new tax to fund a national civil service which would take over certain administrative tasks previously the purview of individual Districts. Piotr was naturally opposed. Aral said nothing publicly; but on the day of the vote the Count was away from the capital and his proxy, cast by the Count’s heir, supported the motion. Vorhalas watched as Count Vorsmythe confronted Lord Vorkosigan indignantly after the Council session ended. “The Count came to see its necessity,” was all he said in measured response to heated accusations. Perhaps…perhaps Piotr’s heir had grown up somewhat since his wild youth. 

*****

Vorhalas had gone down to his District for the summer and so heard third-hand that Aral Vorkosigan had been appointed Admiral and Commander of the Komarran expedition. It came as no real surprise. These last few years Lord Vorkosigan’s star had clearly been rising fast. Dimitri thought he would be wise to exercise a smidgeon more caution. The man could be brusque when sometimes an ounce of tact would serve better. But there was no doubting his skill and bravery in battle. Certainly, his brother Rulf thought highly of him, called him a brilliant tactician. Summer was over and Vorhalas was back in the capital when Admiral Vorkosigan was brought before the Council of Counts in disgrace for the aftermath of that textbook perfect campaign and broken back to Captain. Shooting stars had a bad habit of burning out fast; but Vorhalas rather thought they had not heard the last of Lord Vorkosigan. Piotr’s prominence within Ezar’s trusted advisers would see him back again in the future, if nothing else. The criticisms levelled at the young Admiral were serious but… not sound. His wife was planning a select soiree the next week as a send-off to Rulf who had just been appointed as military attaché to Cetagandan Embassy; Vorhalas made a point of ensuring Lord Vorkosigan was sent an invitation. 

*****

They had not been the closest of brothers; as children the gap of years between them meant they never really shared activities. Rulf had made a career of the military, as do many younger sons, and often had galactic postings which kept him away from home. Nonetheless, they were _brothers_ and the news of Rulf’s death had been a shock. There was no body to bury; but there was still a ceremony and the second man to cast a lock of his hair on the offering pile was his friend Aral. Later that evening they locked themselves in Dimitri Vorhalas’ study and got drunk together. Aral looked pale and red eyed when his Armsman assisted him into his lightflyer the next morning; Count Vorhalas who saw him off looked no better. 

*****

He sat the darkened sitting room that was part of the Count’s suite, listening. Would that he could get drunk, but that was no answer. His wife - his beloved wife of the past thirty years – lay in the next room in silent drugged sleep. She had screamed and wept and begged, swearing that never again would she allow him to enter _her_ room if he did nothing to stop the execution, until, at last, when she finally realised he would not take action to break Carl out of his arrest, she uttered formal curses, repudiating him as her husband and calling on the gods for them to take him in retribution if he allowed their son to die. The servants had been shocked; a doctor had been called and a sedative administered. He was an old family retainer and allowed considerable latitude for his many years of faithful service. 

“It is the shock, my lord Count,” explained the doctor, “she will be calm in the morning – probably will have forgotten she ever said it.” 

Dimitri Vorhalas nodded and allowed himself to be soothed. It was what the household wanted, after all. But he did not take the medicine the doctor pressed on him. Instead he sat alone, listening through the open door to his wife’s drugged breathing. She would never forget, not forgive. He could do no less.


End file.
